He's Behind You!
by Blackcurrant Bonbons
Summary: In which Sherlock and John go to a pantomime. John is helplessly giggling, Mycroft is being sneaky with a video camera, and a mortified Sherlock is up on stage choking on a handful of Skittles. An unforgettable experience - in more ways than one.


A/N: For my fellow Twitter Sherlockian friend **zeroable**, to cheer her up because she lives in the States – and so won't be able to watch Sherlock till May! I hope this cheers you up! :D

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><p><span>He's Behind You!<span>

by

Blackcurrant Bonbons

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><p>"Why did you say we're doing this again Sherlock?"<p>

Sherlock and John sat comfortably in plush fabric seats, shoulders barely brushing. The loud cacophony of young children and touchy parents filled the theatre, and Sherlock looked distinctly disgruntled. A bag of Skittles sat between the couple, and the haughty detective was scoffing down a handful at regular intervals. John _tutted_ disapprovingly.

"For a case, _obviously,"_ Sherlock drawled. "Must I repeat everything I say for your benefit?"

John sighed knowingly. "It was rhetorical, you know - for dramatic effect." Eyeing the detective again, he added, "But I think I have enough drama here as it is."

Sherlock scoffed, but the effect was rather spoiled as he inhaled a skittle. John smacked him heartily on the back, attracting the attention of several amused parents.

The flushing detective rasped, _"STOP!"_ and John obliged, after a few seconds.

"Are you alright?" The good doctor asked. "Anything wounded? Except your pride, of course."

Sherlock glowered affectionately at John, and swallowed another handful of Skittles.

The glowing lights of the theatre cast shadows across Sherlock's angular profile, softening the ruler straight lines of his angular cheekbones.

John clenched the armrest to stop himself from reaching out.

Sherlock swallowed another handful of Skittles.

The audience started to lights softened, the curtains drew apart, and so the pantomime began.

John sighed in resignation.

_Perhaps front row seats hadn't been such a good idea._

*S*J*

"HE'S BEHIND YOU!" The audience yelled ferociously, John joining in good-naturedly, if slightly half-hearted. Sherlock looked consternated.

"What are you doing?" the genius detective enquired to John.

John chuckled. "Haven't you been to a panto before?"

Sherlock raised an elegant eyebrow as if to say, '_I am a sociopath, therefore these mortal customs hold no interest for me._'

John shook his head fondly. "It's part of the custom. Go along with it."

The audience broke out into another round, and Sherlock mumbled something snarky that John didn't catch.

"What was that love?" John asked loudly above the roar of noise.

Sherlock eye-rolled dramatically. "I _said_, this is an** idiotic farce**!" He spat angrily.

The theatre fell silent. Several of the actors looked cowed, and the entire audience behind them had red hot glares focused on the detective's direction.

John winced and partially covered his reddening face with his hand.

A little girl sitting nearby aimed a kick at Sherlock's shin, and hit hard. The shocked detective sputtered incredulously, whimpering slightly. A shaking, slightly giggly John placed a hand on his partner's forearm, pulling him back to the play.

*S*J*

"Now, we're going to need a member of the audience for this part! Any volunteers?"

A sea of eager hands flew up like a Mexican wave.

John thought later on that it would have been better if Sherlock _had_ in fact raised his hand.

"_You_, sir!" The actor pointed at Sherlock. John chortled. The detective looked like a little lost lamb, bewildered and wide-eyed.

"Yes, you sir! Would you like to help?"

Sherlock shock his head vehemently, sinking back into his seat.

But the audience slowly began to clap him on, and then the actors forcibly grabbed him by the arms, dragging him onto the stage. His cries of "John, help me you bastard!" were cut off as he fell onto the stage. The doctor clamped a hand over his mouth.

And almost yelled when he turned to the recently unoccupied seat, to find it occupied by the British Government, no less.

"Good evening John," Mycroft said warmly.

Flicking on the recording button on his state of the art video camera, a shark-like grin spread across Mycroft's face.

"Blackmail?" John commented nonchalantly.

"I suppose," Mycroft replied.

John grinned. "You might need more than two copies, if you catch my drift..."

Mycroft guffawed. "My, my, doctor. Well, that can be arranged."

On stage, a bright red Sherlock caught sight of the scheming pair, a look of comic outrage spreading across his face.

Mycroft stood up hastily. "It's been a pleasure talking to you, John. Until next time."

And with that, he was gone.

John blinked.

*S*J*

An hour later, the couple were settled in a cab on their way back to Baker Street.

Sherlock was sulking, his mood volatile. John, however, was positively beaming ear-to-ear.

"Did you enjoy that Sherlock?" John asked gleefully.

It took a while for him to respond. "Not in the slightest. I positively loathed the entire experience." Sherlock replied moodily.

"I think we're going to have to go to pantos more often."

John's phone vibrated in his pocket.

_Second copy has been procured – MH_

John burst out laughing. Sherlock glared daggers.

All in all, the doctor concluded – an excellent evening's entertainment.

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><p><em>FINIS<em>


End file.
